Rainbow
by Inclinant
Summary: I was living in a monochrome till that day I first saw you. This cannot be love, but why then does my every breath ache? Please don't take the colours away from me again. AU. Amechu. Oneshot.


**Rainbow**

* * *

Summary: I was living in a monochrome till that day I first saw you. This cannot be love, but why then does my every breath ache? Please don't take the colours away from me again.

Warning: Hints, really really really super minor hints at self-harm

Pair: AmeChu

A/N: Written to the song 'Silence' by Avanna. It's a sad song but the fic is happy I promise LOL.

* * *

The grey rain lightly patters down, washing over the white rectangular buildings and the crisscrossing black roads in rhythmic waves. The water slides across the surfaces it descends upon, slips into the neatly cut hollows like sleek and smooth sheets. The wind is like twisting silver writhing over the dark slate grey roads. The roads are empty.

He is standing beneath a small white alcove, a strangely shaped figure in this strict ordinary regular world. The fitted suit he wears, however, blurs easily into the monochrome. Dark brown hair, almost black, lies limply on a shoulder even as identically hued eyes gaze into the rain.

Would it stop? Probably not.

The same eyes search out the empty road, then the man utters a deep sigh. Slim hands reach up to draw up the collars of the long coat, gaze fluttering down to the still street, one foot outstretched to step into the rain…

And then there is a flash of gold.

Yao jerks back into the safety of the alcove. He takes a slow breath and then takes one hesitant step out of the recess, eyes following the lingering, dancing thread of gold. A stout, deep navy blue postbox paints itself into existence eights steps from him. It waddles to the edge of the pathway on its four short legs and then sits itself there. It waves its flap happily from side to side and its belly, tattooed with a crisp white logo, is full and content.

And there is a youth there. Gold-haired and blue-eyed. He sits carelessly on his red bicycle, hefting the dark green sack of letters from the box easily. The light blue, almost aqua, trousers and plain white of his uniform fits him well. A light brown cap sits on his head, keeping the rain away and letting Yao have a clear view of his face. He expertly fits another sack, dark brown this time, into the box and twists the glinting silver key to lock it. Everything is streamline, fast and organized, with the long ease of routine.

_He _is bright and vibrant and colourful, almost terrifyingly so.

But then he looks back. And sees him. And Yao almost wants to duck back into the white alcove, back into the nothing, but the youth merely smiles a bright yellow smile and then a clarion red umbrella arcs through the rain and Yao barely catches it inches from the ground.

Yao quickly looks back up to thank him, but he is gone.

* * *

The umbrella is an odd spot of red in the tiny black and white apartment.

But Yao likes it.

* * *

He makes an effort to leave the office at the same strange early hour, but he does not meet him again.

He does that again for a week.

But he does not see him again.

He comes early to the office to prepare for a meeting only to spot his familiar figure heading into the distance.

He leaves for lunch early.

He returns from lunch late.

He leaves exactly on time for once, and is greeted with a warm smile from him.

It takes almost a month and five chance meetings, but Yao quickly figures out the times that young postman will travel past this one fateful mailbox.

So he writes a note.

He pens the words in black ink on scarlet paper in neat, measured strokes. Satisfied, he ties it to the umbrella and drops it into the mailbox and returns to his office and waits.

* * *

_Thank you for the red umbrella._

_I hope to see you again._

* * *

It is not raining this time. Cars fill the road constantly. The people about him fill the air with murmurs and whistles and the sound of pacing hustling feet.

But Yao pays them no mind, despite the snatches of colour that they fill the world with.

He waits in the alcove this time, leaning against one of the wall in an attempt to look casual. He actually really needs the support of the steadying concrete. His briefcase is set upon the worn cement and leans tiredly against his leg under the weight of the solemn papers within its leather embrace. He wonders again how he looks like, haggard and worn after a long day in the office, perhaps. Self-consciously, he runs his fingers through his hair again, before catching himself and tucking his hands into his pockets.

He lingers there even as the youth comes again. Waiting, he corrected his traitorous mind. Not hiding.

But he cannot stop himself from peering out expectantly and glimpses the young man uncovering the small red package he had slipped inside the smirking postbox just minutes before. The surprise in his eyes is a sparkling champagne pink, which is reflected in the grin the man then directs to Yao.

Sheepishness colours his face a warm lavender. Yao steps out of the alcove and its whiteness and a deep, gentle maroon makes itself home in his smile. The man brightens up even more at his actions, before he hastily wipes his head about and digs frantically into the orange backpack and fishes out a piece of paper so blue it looked as if he had plucked it out of the sky.

Yao watches on while the postman scratches into the paper, before folding it into an airplane. The postman turns back to him and bows his head almost shyly, but the bright sunflower yellow smile is still on his face. He grips the airplane in his thumb and forefinger and sends it flying through the air, over the people, over the street, over it all…

To Yao.

He stretches out his cupped hands to the sky. The plane swirls and twirls in the air before nestling itself between his hands. The postman smiles at that and then he is gone, vanished into the crowd.

Yao carefully opens the letter in his hands, savouring its cerise tinged contents, before tucking it neatly into the pocket of his black suit. Picking up his briefcase, he makes his way home.

The sky had never been bluer.

* * *

_Hey, it's all cool!_

_I hope to see you too :)_

* * *

It becomes a strange system just for them.

He slips a colourful package into the postbox address to "The Postman".

The postman leaves slips of brightly coloured paper in the crack by the side of the postbox addressed to "The Alcove Man."

* * *

A hot pink paper: So…what do you work as?

An imperial red scrap: Wow, that's really really cool! I wish I were smart enough to become a lawyer too.

A turquoise paper: What do you like?

A lime green, slightly wet slip of paper: I just knew you liked chocolates!

An apple-red paper: I see you're no longer hiding in that alcove.

A cerulean paper: I'm a college student. This is just a part time job, haha.

A salmon pink paper: Tell me about your lucky girl!

A sunny yellow lined paper torn out of a notebook: I don't suppose you being all a fancy businessman and all would like burgers right? Anyway, there's this totally awesome diner two streets from here you gotta try.

A sea blue paper: You gotta be kidding right? How can a catch like you be single?

A chestnut brown paper: I always use to hang out at the park beside the train station. There's this little pond tucked away in a small grove and it's so peaceful.

A baby pink paper: Thanks for the cookies! I totally understand what you mean by heavenly now.

An aqua paper: That's so cool. Wish I had gone to catch that movie! I love all these transformer things. Used to play with them all the time when I was a kid! Hey, what did you use to play with? I bet it's all old, ancient stuff I've never heard of haha. Not saying you're old…but you kind of are.

A lime green scrap of paper: Aw, c'mon, I'm the most skilled rider in the entire city! You weren't caught in the rain were you?

A beige paper: I'm sorry. Did I really look that bad? It's not…nothing, yeah. I'm sorry for worrying you…but thanks for your concern. I really needed it. I'll be fine.

An orange paper: I think the coffee there is the best too! But it's so damn expensive man. Not that it's a problem for you, I bet.

A peach paper: Thank you for always being here.

* * *

His house remains empty as it has always been but as Yao sticks all the paper in his apartment, they begin to fill up walls after walls, slowly lighting up the place and chasing the black and white away. And one day he arrives home to discover that their colours have spilled everywhere and he can no longer see the dreaded monotony.

And he discovers, through walks in the parks and trips to tiny diners and uncovering boxes of old toys, that the world is like a rainbow once more.

But then the letters stop.

Yao waits there day after day, but he no longer glimpses the familiar flash of gold, nor is there a slip of a rainbow inside the mailbox again.

But he still waits.

And hopes.

But the colours are slowly leeching from the world again, no matter how desperately he tries to grab hold of them again.

The sudden stop baffles him. The fact that it baffles him baffles him even more.

_He _was just a postman. They had not even said a word to each other. A mere exchange of letters….how could that mean anything?

But it had been those letters that had brought back all the shimmering colours back into his world.

One day, he finds a white envelope there and his heart leaps and soars and sings a bright blue back into the sky. He opens it nervously and then there is a jarring, overwhelming surge of colour, before everything falls into muted shades.

* * *

_I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I won't be able to see you again_

_I….I think…I may be in love with you._

* * *

_ I was living in a monochrome till that day I first saw you. This cannot be love, but why then does my every breath ache? Please don't take the colours away from me again._

_ I do not even know your name._

The first few years, Yao can still see snatches of colours.

He does not even remember when it was when everything faded back to the black and white it had always been.

Maybe it was meant to be.

* * *

It is raining yet again when Yao gazes out of his office down at the monotony of white and black streets. The rain is grey and drenches the landscape unceasingly. He turns back to his computer and the stacks of papers placed on his desk for his review by his associate – an unassuming grey shadow of a being.

He distantly remembers days that were filled with colour. Days that always slipped away somehow – death, betrayal, a goodbye that was never said. Maybe the monotony was meant to be. Maybe some people were just meant to live in a black and white world.

_He never even found out his name._

Then there is a glimpse of gold.

The black pen falls out of his grip. Yao slowly looks up.

Black eyes meet sky blue. The world stops.

"Sorry…I kind of saw myself in because your secretary wasn't there…I hope it's not a problem." The man grins. His voice is clear and bright. He is standing awkwardly in the middle of the office, left hand hiding by his side and his right pulling at his hair nervously. He looks almost dwarfed in Yao's large, spacious office.

This time, Yao stands up and takes him in properly for the very first time. He is taller than him, broad shouldered, and dressed sharply in a black suit, Yao notes ironically. He is no longer a youth. No longer dressed in that postman's uniform. But somehow, he is just like that young postman he remembers from so long ago – it has only been three years, but three years spent in a colourless world is more than enough to feel like an eternity.

But this time, Yao sees beyond the blinding brilliant gold. He sees the faint red scar peeking out from the man's collar. He sees the way he hides his wrists. He sees the wariness and darkness at the corners of the sky blue. He sees the tremble in the man's smile and the uneasy shuffling of his feet. He sees the ache in his gaze.

"Sorry, I'm being rude," The man laughs softly, nervously. "My name is Alfred Jones. I'm 24 this year and I just graduated from NYU. Nothing fancy like law I mean, I'm not that smart. Oh god, I have no idea why I even said that."

Yao blinks at him, stunned, then his mind registers his words. _Alfred Jones._ A name.

"Um, I'm sorry, you probably don't even remember me now but…." Alfred says, his voice dropping slowly into a mumble, before he raises his head again and looks up straight at Yao. "I have a story to tell you, if you will hear me out. On behalf of that young postman three years ago. Also…"

Yao waits.

"I'm still in love with you."

Alfred winces at the lack of response. "Please don't call security."

"You owe me a good story," Yao hears himself saying and feels his body moving forward from behind his desk. He stretches out his hand politely. "Wang Yao."

Alfred's eyes widen and he smiles so widely that it's almost blinding. He takes Yao's hand enthusiastically.

_And the moment that he does, Yao can see the colours spiraling back into place once again, red, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink and finally, brilliant, bright, gold._

* * *

A/N: I TRIED. Might re-edit and re-upload this another time when I have more time on my hands. Also I'm half dead from sleepiness so if there's any really bad typos or anything, please forgive me!

There will be a companion piece from Alfred's POV.

SIGH. I TRIED. In the odd event that anyone actually likes this, I might continue it because I find it cute. Haha.


End file.
